Redruth has been well served by Co-operative Stores for many years. The "mother-ship" in the High Street has been slowly spawning new outlets
around the edges of town, but in the end the stresses of childbirth took their toll, and the main store died and became a Wilkinsons (which is my
dark warning to the future as our sun begins to grow old). As a consequence the town was left with
only three Co-operative convenience stores to buy buns in. It would be rude to decline!
It seems that most distributors of Belgian Buns have decided that they need their own personal protection armour
to keep them safe through the retail process and in general terms this is allowing buns to be softer,
greasier and more liberally drenched in thin white icing than was possible in the days that a bun would have to stand
on its own against the hostile world.
The label promises "soft white buns filled with lemon flavour curd, sultanas, iced with white fondant and topped with a glace cherry". It is a mighty promise,
a verbal picture of perfection. The Mona Lisa of the bakers craft. This expresses the very heart of the Belgian Bun, a love letter to a secret connoisseur.
So much promise on a small sticky label as though the gates to Paradise had a post-it note on saying welcome. Ask any sex worker - great things do not come in
blister packages!
Split cleanly down the middle the buns revealed a pale body. The promise that it would be filled with lemon flavour curd
was sadly misleading. The bun was dry and hard and the hint of lemony flavour was like a thin wash of
make-up on a wizened face, insufficient to add to the appeal.
Also insufficient in the fruit department, it has to be admitted. With a currant count of 8 it was less
a fruit bun than an accidental spillage of sultanas in a factory of dullness.
The icing on top of the bun was also a little disappointing. I'm not sure how modern technologists
have managed to make sugar icing without sweetness, but it is a grim and pointless exercise. Fortunately
every ridicuous venture is improved by a cherry on the top, and this is no exception. The cherry is a magnificent thing, large and round and plump.
It glows in the winter sunshine, a crowning glory to the sad construction beneath.
You might pass this package in a window on a bright and promising afternoon, and think to yourself "nice buns", but as is so often the case in those circumstances
you would do well to take it no further.
So what do you do with a disappointing bun on a cold winter evening? There is a simple answer. The surprising thing about it was the long burn.
I was prepared for the bun to burst into a blaze of fizzing glory and be gone, but it smouldered slowly
like a coiled charcoal briquette and even the icing seemed fireproof which adds weight to my
theory that it is made from sugar-free sugar.
